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Dogs Don't Lie (Pru Marlowe Pet Noir Series #1)

Dogs Don't Lie (Pru Marlowe Pet Noir Series #1)

4.3 16
by Clea Simon

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Pru Marlowe isn't your ordinary animal psychic. A tough girl on the  run from her own gift, Pru left the big city to return to her   picturesque Berkshires hometown looking for a little peace. Too bad   that her training as an animal behaviorist got her mixed up with  Lily, a rescue dog, and Charles, her person. Now Charles is dead, and  


Pru Marlowe isn't your ordinary animal psychic. A tough girl on the  run from her own gift, Pru left the big city to return to her   picturesque Berkshires hometown looking for a little peace. Too bad   that her training as an animal behaviorist got her mixed up with  Lily, a rescue dog, and Charles, her person. Now Charles is dead, and   Lily looks good for it. After all, Lily is a pitbull, a fighting-ring   dropout, and way too traumatized to give Pru a clear picture of what   she has witnessed. But Pru knows something about bad girls trying to  clean up, and, with a sense of justice strong enough to overcome her dislike of human society, she takes the case. Listening to the animals, Pru picks up clues--and learns there are secrets in the  pretty little town that make murder look simple. Unable to tell  anybody about her psychic abilities, uncertain at times about her own  sanity, Pru comes to realize that if she clears Lily, she’ll likely   become the prime suspect--or the next victim. While the only  creature she can totally trust is her crotchety tabby Wallis, Pru’s  got to uncover the real killer--and find a way to live with her gift--before the real beasts in the town savage her and those she   has come to love. The first in the Pru Marlowe “pet noir” series.

Editorial Reviews

Library Journal
Berkshires pet psychic Pru Marlowe finds her highest-paying client dead in his living room with his throat torn out. The prime suspect is the victim's blood-covered pit bull, Lily. Trying to save Lily places Pru squarely on the path to danger. VERDICT Simon, author of the Theda Krakow (Probable Claws) and Dulcie Schwartz series (Grey Matters), launches a delightful new pet series that will appeal to fans of Shirley Rousseau Murphy and Rita Mae Brown.

Product Details

Poisoned Pen Press
Publication date:
Pru Marlowe Pet Noir Series , #1
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Product dimensions:
5.40(w) x 8.40(h) x 0.70(d)

Read an Excerpt

Dogs Don't Lie

A Pru Marlowe Pet Noir
By Clea Simon

Poisoned Pen Press

Copyright © 2011 Clea Simon
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-59058-862-8

Chapter One

The problem with murder is that it's messy. Not just the blood, the viscera, and what have you, but the boundaries. And when you're trying to save a life—provide an alibi—for someone you know is innocent, well, the guilt tends to splash back onto you. Especially when there's money involved.

That's the problem I was facing on a perfectly fine September morning, when I'd rather have been back in bed ... drinking coffee on the porch ... Cleaning litter boxes. Anything rather than trying to explain why I had my hands on the bloody collar of a panicked pit bull named Lily, and why neither of us was responsible for the corpse at our feet.

It had started four months ago when Lily's person, the mangled corpse formerly known as Charles, had first called me for a consult. As a rule, I don't like to work with pit bulls. It's not the breed, it's the people. Which, come to think of it, is usually the problem. But Lily was special. Lean and tightly muscled, with a short, soft coat of creamy white and the kind of brown eyes you could lose yourself in, Lily was a youngster who had been through too much for her years. She was safe now, but the memories showed, and that's where, in theory, I came in. I was going to help her get over those memories. Not forget them, I'm not a miracle worker. Just move on, reclaim what was left of her doggy life. Leave the past to be scooped up by some other poor slob.

People, they're trouble. But animals? When it comes to fur and four legs, I'm a softie. That's why I'm a behaviorist, or almost, because at some point way too long ago, I wanted to know how our fellow creatures thought, and why. If I could make a living translating that for other humans, well, I thought I'd be doing honest work. That's all different now, but this is my job, and I'm good at it. Most of the time, of course, the so-called owners don't want to understand what's going on with the animals that share their lives. They just want the behavior changed. Not that they're willing to change their own.

Which didn't explain what I was doing here in the sun-drenched living room with a bloody dog, a cop, and Charles. I had a hard time looking at Charles, what was left of him. Before something tore his throat open, leaving him to bleed out on his own refinished white oak floor, he'd been better than most. Tall, skinny guy, more brains than brawn, he'd had some heart, coming along for Lily when she'd needed him, and she'd had enough good animal sense to know it. All things considered, she'd been doing okay, too. Some nervous tics, fear issues ingrained on her from her less-than-ideal puppyhood. We were making progress. A little less frantic barking, a lot less cringing.

It didn't matter. Standing there, trying not to show the strain of holding back forty pounds of pure muscle, I knew how it would come down. The gore that had soaked into Charles' faded MIT sweatshirt would make everyone jump, and the pieces would fall like dominoes. An autopsy would list cause of death as heart failure, brought about by a combination of shock and blood loss. Forensics would show canine saliva in the jagged wounds that kept drawing my eye. If I were Lily's guardian, I could probably press for DNA that would show the shell-shocked animal had nothing to do with the raw tears in Charles' neck. But I wasn't, and Lily would be dead by then anyway, euthanized as a precaution. Click, click, click.

"Lily—" I'd slipped up. On her license, the three-year-old white bitch—I use that word in the technical sense—was listed as Tetris, after the game. An ugly name, but one of Charles' little computer-nerd jokes. "I mean, Tetris is not a vicious animal."

"And you are?" The young cop who'd gotten the call was in a bad mood. Tossing your breakfast burrito at a crime scene will do that to you.

"Marlowe. Pru Marlowe." Usually my first name gets me a slow once over and a smile, the kind I didn't mind missing. "I'm the behaviorist." A blank look, blue eyes flat as slate in his unlined face. "Like a trainer. I'd been working with Charles, with this dog, for a few months."

"Really." I'm good with animals, but I couldn't read this young buck. "And do you train dogs to attack?"

* * *

Half hour later, the young cop had all my info, and I didn't like it. Anyone in town could have told him who I was. It was more the way he asked his questions. Tall and impassive, he had the cocky look of a high school stud who had kept both the muscles and the attitude, wondering out loud why I'd come back to this nowhere burg and why I seemed to be siding with the panicked beast still screaming herself hoarse in her crate.

I'd given him what I could, but there was a lot I couldn't say. Not and stay a free woman. And pup that he was, that young cop sensed it. This was, I realized, the perfect crime. A murder disguised to look like an animal attack; poor Lily made the fall-dog for someone else's misdeeds. And by stepping in to protest her innocence, I'd only made them interested in me. I mean, I had Charles' key, and here I was saying I had come in to find him like this, all the while protesting that, no, the dog didn't do it. I couldn't explain that I knew Lily well enough to know she'd never willingly kill again. That she still had nightmares about some of the darker scenes in her past. That she was, at the moment we were speaking, telling me that she had nothing to do with Charles' death. To do that, I would have to explain that although I was a few credits short of my certification as a behaviorist, I was a natural animal psychic. No, this young cop, all pissed off after he'd puked his guts out in front of me, would not go for that.

Best I could do was buy some time. The folks at animal control knew me, knew my record anyway, and I'd been back in town long enough to help them out of some jams. Summer people's pets, a nuisance in season and abandoned in autumn. The occasional hoarder. Small towns tend to get the crazies. Yes, I had some credit there. Still, if I didn't act fast, Lily would be as dead as the man who had bought her four months earlier for a hundred bucks from a busted-up gambler who'd needed cash fast. In any other hands, Lily would have been dead already. She wasn't a fighter, not at heart. I needed her to be safe. I needed her to calm down, so I could figure out what had happened. Otherwise, she'd take the rap, and a murderer would go free.

* * *

"Dogs." Wallis hissed out the word, as close to a curse as she comes. "They lie."

Wallis is a thirteen-year-old tabby with whom I share my rundown old house. As a cat, and the matriarch of our little household, she holds rather firm opinions. No loud noises. No cursing, and definitely no dogs.

"Lily isn't lying." I was home, trying to sort out my thoughts. Wallis, sprawled across the big farm table that served as my all-purpose food and workspace, wasn't helping. "She isn't that bright."

I was pandering to Wallis and she knew it, rolling back over to tuck her feet under her snowy white breast, all proud of herself with that satisfied smile. I needed a little space, a little quiet, to work things out. But what I'd said was also the truth. Lily, like most dogs, was too straightforward to lie. And although the creamy bitch didn't have a mean bone in her muscular body, I knew she was also too inbred to plan a sentence before she spoke it. "Let go," she'd yelped as I'd held her, leaning back against her constant forward thrust. "No! No! Let go!" She wanted to run to Charles, and I could see him as she did. Could see Charles' face, his soft pale hands reaching out to adjust her collar or to rub the sensitive spot at the base of her ears, as they had in better times. That's what he was to her, all smiles and pets; a series of images that was already fading. "Let go! Let go! Let go!" But I couldn't. She'd only have dashed back to her person, and her attempts to revive him would have looked like further attacks to the young cop. More to the point, they'd have messed up the crime scene even more. "Let go!" I'd wait until she calmed down and see if I could get any sense out of her.

"Dogs." Wallis sniffed and closed her eyes. Cats can be like three-year-olds, making you disappear when they're finished with you. The twitch of an ear gave her away. "Dogs have fleas."

I didn't argue. I could have. While I do have this odd gift, the ability to hear what animals are "saying," I can't usually converse with them in a human sense. It's more like I eavesdrop, pick up the images or, sometimes, the meanings behind the growls and snorts. With Wallis, for some reason, the communication goes both ways. I think it's because we've lived together for so long—seven years come November. She thinks it's because she's a cat. But as I boiled the water for another round of joe, I realized more was brewing than coffee. I'd brought the white dog over to the town pound, as I'd told that young cop I would. And even as I left her, I'd found myself second guessing my suddenly law-abiding move. I don't like the pound. Under the jurisdiction of the police station right next door, it feels too much like a jail, all cages and rules. We have a shelter, a decent one, two towns over and less than an hour away. As a taxpayer in the same county, I probably had the right to bring an animal there, too. Unlike the pound, the shelter has a full-time vet, a real staff. Everything a traumatized animal needs. Instead, I'd toed the line, and now I was regretting it.

Partly, it was that cop. I'm not shy, far from it. But since I'd come back to my hometown I'd been laying low. And the way that young cop had looked at me made me think of small rooms with bright lights and too many questions to answer.

Partly, it was shock. Let's be honest, even for me the morning had been tough. I'd felt for Lily; the poor girl didn't have many resources to start with, and after whatever she had seen, she had just about lost it. I hadn't been at my best, either. When I'd brought the poor beast in, still shaking, I'd seen the looks. I'd thought they were for Lily. Blondes always get the attention, and the only professional in the bunch—the sheriff's animal control officer-slash-drinking buddy—was off chasing a raccoon or something. I'd refused to hand her over to the wide-eyed staring deputy. You could tell he had sweaty hands. Instead, I'd walked her back to the isolation cages myself. Locked her in with a pet and a promise. Left a bit of my heart behind me when I stood up. That's when I caught that they were staring at me: a deputy from the cop shop next door, some dude on the desk, a file clerk. I know I'm easy on the eyes, even with my long black hair tied back and my work clothes muting what have been described as dangerous curves. Still, it had been a rough morning, any way you cut it, so it had to be the blood. I was covered in it, and without the distraction of a forty-pound case of nerves, I could feel how it stiffened the legs of my jeans and made my work shirt stick to my chest like it was silk rather than denim. I'd pulled at the sticky cloth to detach it from my body and caught the deputy's gasp. Real weirdo. That's when I realized I needed a change. Barring that, a bath and some more coffee would have to do.

* * *

Poor Lily. She'd been a wreck when Charles had bought her back in May, underweight and shaky. Afraid of her own shadow, literally, or of anything else that moved suddenly or made a noise. He'd seen her outside a bar, he'd told me that first day. We were sitting on the floor, me trying to avoid eye contact with the terrified pooch until she could deal with it. He'd been walking back from a meeting, something with investors, when he'd seen the skinny thing tied to a parking meter. She was whining, shivering in the chill of an early spring evening. We're not that high up, but we get a country cool out here in the Berkshires. Too much fresh air. Whatever, he'd felt for her.

"Maybe it's 'cause she's white." I could hear his voice. "She just stood out. It was dark, and there she was."

I'd had to shush him. He tended to get worked up, and Lily didn't need that. Not then, not now. Maybe that's why he'd lingered, feeding her the remains of a good steak dinner until her owner came out of that bar. Three sheets to the wind, he still could spot a sucker, and Lily went home with Charles that night. A C-note was nothing to him. It meant life for Lily. Until now.

* * *

"Nuff." Wallis' dismissive sniff pulled me out of my thoughts, and I poured the water over the grounds. "Head case."

"I'll assume you mean the dog." I don't like taking that tone with Wallis. We live too close, even in this rambling wreck of a house. But some things are personal, and she rolled over on her tiger-striped back to look up at me. She didn't need to say more. Noon, and I was back in my bathrobe. It had been all I could do to strip out of those clothes and shower. All I could do to throw them in the old washing machine. Even my bra had blood on it, and peeling the stiff, tacky fabric off my skin had reminded me of how I'd held Lily's wet muzzle against my body, first to attach her lead and then simply to offer the comfort of my body. Had reminded me of Charles, what was left of him. Disposable wardrobes only go with disposable incomes, however, and I'd turned my back on that life months ago. "It was pretty bad, Wallis."

"You turning soft?" The cat flipped one ear toward me.

I took a big hit of coffee. The bitter heat helped me focus. "He was my best paying client."

"Not that he knew it." We were on familiar turf here. It was true, I'd had a few gigs since coming back to Beauville, but nothing major. There was an aging bichon I walked each day for his equally aging human; once around the block did it. An aquarium at the local Chinese place. They could've gotten a high school student, but I must have seemed more trustworthy. Occasional cat sitting for the summer people, the ones who bought up the pricey condos in the new development. To the regulars around here the idea of cat care tended toward leaving a bowl of dry food and hoping kitty would still be around when you returned. Even my occasional "pet therapy" clients would disappear once the foliage fell. Not much to live on. I didn't have a mortgage, but I did like to eat. Besides, even with the house coming to me free and clear, I had property taxes to pay, including some overdue notes that my mother had let slide in those last years. So, yeah, I'd pegged Charles as a newcomer and had charged him city rates. What of it? I'd been city trained.

"And your last check was?" Wallis reached out to grab my hand as she questioned me. To an outsider it must have looked cute. The kitty and the coffee cup. But I felt the claws under the velvet.

"Two months ago." I put the mug down and stared out the window. My view was as pretty as the one from the new development, but in the first flash of autumn color I saw winter coming. Heating bills. "Shit." What with one thing and another, I'd forgotten my already casual bookkeeping. Charles' account was long overdue. I'd been meaning to ask him for a check this morning....

"Well, don't worry about me." Wallis sat up and flicked her tail. "There's a new colony of mice in the mud room wall, and I'm sure the squirrels will be moving into the attic for the winter."

"Cut it, Wallis." The stout tabby might hunt for pleasure, but I knew she expected her Fancy Feast fresh and on time. "Look, I'll try to find out what's up."

She shot me a glance. I downed what was left of my coffee. "The guy had money, Wallis. Someone's got to inherit—and that means taking over the bills, too."

"You just want to check on that ... dog." Her voice could have fixed the polar ice caps.

I shrugged and stood up. Time to get dressed again. Time to get back into the fray. "What of it? She's connected to the account. And animals are property in this state."

She jumped off the table and left the room without another word.

Chapter Two

"What's with you, anyway, Pru? You used to be such a nice gal." Albert was all right, as far as town officials go. But I was at the pound to see Lily, not discuss my personal life. "You get your heart broken or something?"

"It was you, Al." Clean and freshly caffeinated, I'd figured I'd start here, move onto the cops next. Wallis might have nailed me in terms of sentiment, but there's no arguing with bills. "I never got over you."


Excerpted from Dogs Don't Lie by Clea Simon Copyright © 2011 by Clea Simon. Excerpted by permission of Poisoned Pen Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Clea Simon is a Massachusetts-based writer, journalist and a regular contributor to the New York Times, Boston Globe, San Francisco Chronicle, Ms., Rolling Stone and Salon.com. She's the author of three nonfiction books, Mad House: Growing Up in the Shadow of Mentally Ill Siblings, Fatherless Women: How We Change After We Lose Our Dads, and The Feline Mystique: On the
Mysterious Connection Between Women and Cats
. She lives in Cambridge, MA, with her husband, the writer Jon S. Garelick, and their cat, Musetta. Mew is for Murder is Simon's first mystery novel.

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Dogs Don't Lie 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 15 reviews.
ReaderOfThePack More than 1 year ago
I received a free e-galley of Dogs Don't Lie by Clea Simon from the publisher, Poisoned Pen Press. Dogs Don't Lie centers around the murder of Charles, owner of a pit bull named Lily (a.k.a. Tetris). The murder is staged to appear that Lily killed Charles. Animal psychic and behaviorist, Pru Marlowe, works as Lily's trainer and finds Charles' body during a routine training session. Recognizing Lily's innocence, Pru must search for the true murderer in order to get Lily off the hook for murder and save her from certain euthanasia. As a pit bull advocate, I was hooked right away. Simon did not disappoint in her portrayal of Lily as a sweet, loving dog that would never hurt anyone. Hooray to Simon for this portrayal of the breed! The story took many twists and turns with lots of suspects and animals thrown into the mix. Pru communicates with the animals in the story - cats, dogs, birds and a lovable ferret named Frank. While it may seem hokey for animals to "talk," Clea Simon handles the subject matter very well. I will definitely check out the next book in the Pru Marlowe series and also plan to check out Simon's Theda Krakow series.
NoraAdrienne More than 1 year ago
Dogs Don't Lie By: Clea Simon Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press Copyright April 2011 Pru Marlowe couldn't wait to get out of her small town. Now years later she is running home to get away from herself. She has a gift that while helpful in her chosen profession as an animal behaviorist is driving her a bit out of her mind. After her mother passes away, and living in the house she grew up in, she starts a business working with pet owners teaching them (after talking to their pets) what they need to do to have happy and healthy pets. Things were getting better, her business was building until fate stepped in. She was on her way to see Charles, her best client, and his rescue dog Lilly (Tetris). Upon entering their house Pru found Charles dead on the floor, killed in such a way as to implicate his pet in his murder. Lilly being a pit bull is taken to the town pound and now it's up to Pru to prove the cops and the whole town WRONG. Along the way we meet her very opinionated 13 year old Tabby cat Wallis. Oh, did I forget to mention that Pru is not only a behaviorist but an animal psychic? Yeap, she can understand their thoughts and in Wallis's case it's a two way communication. We also meet Albert who is the Animal Control Person for the town, various and sundry customers of Pru's, whose business keeps food on the table for herself and Wallis. Enjoy the ride it's a fun one. Dog's Don't Lie is the first in a new series by Clea Simon, a published author, and a fantastic lady. I highly recommend this book to everyone that likes not only cozies, but also pet stories, and a bit of the paranormal thrown in for fun. FTC Full Disclosure: I was sent this book as an ARC by the author in the hope that I would review it.
Aubrey_Hamilton More than 1 year ago
I had the good fortune to receive recently an advance copy of this first title in the new Pet Noir series by Clea Simon. I found it an enjoyable and thought-provoking read. Pru Marlowe is working and training as an animal behaviorist in New York when her sensitivity to animals becomes the full-blown ability to communicate with them. When she begins to understand what her tabby cat Wallis is saying to her, she commits herself to a psychiatric hospital. They discharge her, she returns to the chatty tabby and flees to her small hometown in the Berkshires while she tries to come to terms with this new ability. She continues to work with animals there, taking a computer geek named Charles as a client. Charles has rescued a beautiful pitbull he names Tetris and he wants Pru to help him reassure the dog that she is safe with him. One morning Pru reports for a training session to find Charles savagely murdered and the dog is covered with blood. From there Pru races to save first the pitbull from immediate euthanasia and then herself, when the autopsy report indicates the wounds were not inflicted by the dog and she becomes a suspect. It's unfortunate that the talking animals, and there are many of them, are going to keep some from reading a good mystery. The plot unfolds briskly in a businesslike manner with suspicion cast on first one character, then another. The resolution comes from left field, revealing a culprit I didn't suspect but in hindsight the indications were there all along.
Jenny_Rose More than 1 year ago
Pru Marlowe was training to be an animal behaviorist, until she managed to work herself sick. She then woke up to realize she could hear animals' thoughts, beginning with her own cat, Wallis. She tried to escape the animals' voices by heading back home to a small town and told everyone it was because of her ailing mother. When her mother passed away, she inherited her childhood home. Pru was trying to build a business of working with people's animals, secretly using her ability to hear the animal's thoughts and get the real story, when she finds one of her clients dead. Charles Harris is brutally murdered in his living room. His throat has been ripped to shreds and the number one suspect is his pit bull, Tetris. Since Pru has been training with Charles and Tetris, Pru disagrees that Tetris would murder her owner. Pru is determined to clear Tetris' name as well as her own. Only, Tetris tells Pru that she is no fighter and she prefers to be called Lily. Pru seeks counsel from Wallis, as she tries to sort out human motives and animal reasoning. Can she clear Lily's name and her own? Can she keep her psychic abilities a secret? How does she piece together all the information she receives from the town's pets? Can she reveal what she knows without telling how she found out? The character development is fantastic, even the animals. The storyline itself has many twists and turns and I never saw the ending coming. I think Clea Simon has done a great job coming up with a new angle on the common Dr. Doolittle character. I may have to check out some of her other writings as well. I received this book free from the publisher to read and give an honest review.
IngridKing More than 1 year ago
Murder mysteries featuring pets are popular, and Clea Simon's Dogs Don't Lie is a wonderful new addition to the genre. Pru Marlowe has almost finished her animal behavior training in New York City when she becomes ill, and all of a sudden discovers that she can hear animals talking to her. Disturbed rather than pleased with this new psychic ability, Pru leaves the city to retreat to her childhood home in the Berkshires. Even though she hasn't completed her behavior certification, she begins to take on some jobs. One of her clients is Lily the pitbull, a former fighting dog. When Pru finds Lily's owner murdered, his throat ripped open, and Lily standing over the body with blood on her face, it looks like the dog did it. But Pru knows Lily, and she knows the dog is not a killer. So Pru sets out to prove Lily's innocence, and gets tangled up in an investigation that involves a business venture, an aging mother with Alzheimer's, a pregnant fiance, an animal control officer with a pet ferret named Frank, a gay Bichon named Bitsy who tells Pru his real name is Growler, and a handsome cop. Pru, reserved and a bit solitary by nature, doesn't come to trust people easily, and forges ahead without much help from the people who knew the victim. Instead, she confides in Wallis, her old, cranky, opinionated and wise tabby, who always seems to know just how to guide Pru when she falters in her investigation. As Pru digs deeper into the case, she realizes that the pretty little town harbors secrets that make murder look like the least of its problems. Unwilling to tell anyone about her psychic abilities, and at times questioning her own sanity, Pru realizes that if she clears Lily of the murder, she herself may be come the most logical suspect, which only increases her desire to find the real killer. Characteristic of all of Simon's mysteries, this new series features a fast moving, intricate plot, an immensely likable main character and well developed and multi-dimensional secondary characters. But it's in the portrayal of the animals where Simon really shines. From her sensitive portrayal of Lily's agony, grief and sadness to her humorous descriptions of Bitsy the Bichon, Simon masterfully captures each animal's unique personality. Pru's psychic abilities add an element of surprise and delight, making Dogs Don't Lie a real treat for dog lovers.
harstan More than 1 year ago
Pru Marlowe returned to her Berkshire hometown to escape all the animal voices running through her head. She tells her neighbors that she came back to care for her mother, but Pru knows the real reason is to obtain some quiet time. An animal psychic, Pru makes money walking dogs and training animals. However, the animal behaviorist becomes concerned when Lily the pit bull rescued from the fighting ring dog is accused of killing her mangled owner Charles. Pru tries to listen to Lily's chatter, but the canine is confused by the tragedy and other nasty events in her life though she obviously witnessed the murder. Still Pru feels for the dog so she decides to investigate with Wallis her grouchy cat at her side insisting canines are notorious liars. Pulling a Dr. Doolittle, she listens to the animals chat and finds clues to the homicide while also learning more about the town she grew up in while also trying to help the two females in the life of the late Charles, Lily and his fiancée Delia Cochrane. However, Pru also knows if she clears the dog, she becomes the replacement prime suspect. The first pet noir whodunit is a fun whodunit even with the animal noise level (mostly from that opinionated darn cat) greater than the Dr. Doolittle movies. The investigation is refreshing as Pru seeks clues from animals especially the traumatized eye witness, but is limited with what she can share with the cops as talk to the animals is fiction. Fast-paced with several terrific twists and spins, readers will enjoy Dogs Don't Lie. Harriet Klausner
JCraneJC More than 1 year ago
I just couldn't get past the cat actually "talking" in the book so really didn't get much further in to the book than the first chapter or two. Just my opinion you may be okay with it.
McDr More than 1 year ago
Great series! I bought the others and hope there will be more to come.
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IFoster More than 1 year ago
Thoroughly enjoyed Clea Simon's DOGS DON'T LIE, a great murder mystery featuring an animal psychic, her feline "roommate" and an endearing pit bull accused of murder. It's a great read for anyone who loves animals and mystery. Can't wait for the next book in Ms. Simon's Pet Noir series!
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